When
Estela Portillo Trambley passed away at the age of 62 in 1998, we lost one of our
most notable Hispanic-American literary icons. Born in El Paso, Texas, she broke
significant barriers with her first book, Rain
of Scorpions and Other Writings, a historic work on several fronts: It was
the first collection of short stories published in the U.S. by an American Latina; the first book by a
Chicana to win an important national literary award (Premio Quinto Sol, 1972),
as well as the first book written by a woman to win this prize.

Portillo Trambley
did something for which not only we women authors, but all authors, should feel
deeply indebted: She introduced the female voice to contemporary Latino letters
and thus changed the direction and focus of this literature forever.

Her
book was immediately notable for its presence in a sea of male authors. Modern Chicano literature began its flowering
post-World War II with Jose Antonio Villareal’s Pocho (1959) and reached impressive bloom in the 1970’s, with books
that are now classics—Tomás
Rivera’s Y no se lo tragó
la tierra (1971); Rodolfo Anaya’s Bless Me, Ultima (1972); Rolando
Hinojosa-Smith’s Estampas del Valle y
otras obras (1973); and Nash Candelaria’s Memories of the Alhambra (1977). The sole woman in this historic
line-up of pioneers was Estella Portillo Trambley with her Rain of Scorpions and Other Writings (1975). She was also the only
woman to follow on the heels of Rivera, Anaya, and Hinojosa-Smith in winning
the annual Premio Quinto Sol. And the rest, as they say, is history.

Portillo
Trambley went on to distinguish herself in a variety of genres. Her body of
work includes her well-known play, The
Day of the Swallows (1971); Sor Juana
and Other Plays (1983); her novel Trini
(1986); and her award-winning drama, Blacklight
(1985). Rain of Scorpions and Other
Stories (1993) was a special edition that included extensive revisions made
by Portillo Trambley herself.

The
original Rain of Scorpions and Other
Writings includes nine short stories
and the title piece, which is a novella. Whereas early male Chicano authors
often focused on Latinos’ alienation from mainstream society, their oppression,
and political/economic disenfranchisement, Portillo Trambley took on other
themes. Often referred to as a feminist, she created strong women characters whose
resilience and resourcefulness emanated from devotion to family, self-knowledge,
community, and love. Her fellow male authors depicted how mainstream society
marginalized and demeaned Latinos, but Portillo Trambley zeroed in on women of different
social classes and ethnic groups to show how they all had something in common:
oppression by a male-dominated society and unyielding tradition.

How these women
break free of their bonds is what Portillo Trambley’s writing is all about. Her
women are required to buck tradition, to invent and reinvent themselves in
their own image, and—sometimes—even to commit crime. Whether they are wealthy
heiresses, middle-class professionals, immigrants, poor villagers in Mexico,
Spanish gypsies, Caucasians, or Indian curanderas,
the women in Portillo Trambley’s stories soldier onward and find ways to escape
what life has dealt them. They do it subtly, spiritually, selfishly, violently,
or craftily, but they find ways to obtain freedom.

There
is the aristocratic Clotilde Romero in “The Paris Gown,” who sacrifices her
reputation in a last-ditch effort to escape an arranged marriage; Nan Fletcher
in “Pilgrimage,” whose husband deserts her for a younger woman, and who now,
through the religious piety of her housekeeper, must find peace; Marusha, the
alienated Spanish gypsy in “Duende,” whose poverty cuts through her soul as she
seeks financial and career success in vain; Lela, the pagan healer in “The
Burning,” whose gifts of love are rejected in ideological ignorance; and Lupe,
an obese, unattractive young woman in “Rain of Scorpions,” who leads life to
the fullest by embodying selflessness and wisdom.

The
boldest rebel against male oppression, Beatriz, appears in the last short story
of the book, “If It Weren’t for the Honeysuckle,” set in an isolated Mexican
village. Beatriz is a paradox: slender and gentle, but cunning and tough
because she’s been through the fire, oppressed first by nine demanding
brothers, then by Robles, a violently abusive drunkard she takes on as her common-law
husband. At the mercy of men, she somehow crafts a life for herself that
flourishes in the absence of men. A tireless, strong worker who loves
gardening, Beatriz turns to nature for answers and for eventual redemption from
the vile Robles.

Yet
Portillo Trambley, who strove to “discover...the miracle of people and a
world,” as she wrote on the back cover of her book, saw beauty and goodness in
men’s souls as she did in women’s. The most touching, sympathetic males in her
bookare not oppressive and rigid. In
“The Secret Room,” Julius (Julio) Otto Vass Schleifer, a German heir in Mexico
realizes that there are greater things in life—such as social justice and true
love—than one’s own culture and wealth. In “Duende,” the gypsy immigrant Triano
is widely known in his impoverished neighborhood as “a good listener...who
melted well into life...[and] mended things and people”. In the title novella—in which brave, ordinary people, young and old,
male and female, join forces to fight a greedy corporation’s destruction of
their community and their people through unbridled pollution and deception—the male
heroes solve their problems in a touching manner that forges a deeper level of
community and peace in their daily lives.

Portillo
Trambley felt that Chicano writers must not limit themselves to Chicano themes
and struggles. She believed that our stage is the human stage and that our
characters and messages must be universal. So she wrote about the importance
and power of love in our lives, the burning quest for freedom in all of us, the
undeniable value of community and family, and the necessity of forging our own
personal identities for the greatest meaning. She was sometimes criticized by
fellow Chicano writers for taking this stance instead of joining in the
militancy and advocacy of Chicanismo, but time has proven her beliefs more
durable, as American Latino literature has veered further and further away from
political themes toward greater universality.

Unfortunately,
Portillo Trambley’s work never received the attention showered on her male
contemporaries, a deep disappointment to her and one she attributed to the
entrenchment of discrimination against women. She once stated in 1980: “Most
male teachers of Chicano literature will look at all the men before they’ll
tackle me. After all, I am just a woman....we still have our closed doors and
our own way of polarizing everything between men and women.”

Still, Portillo
Trambley’s place in the canon of American Latino literature cannot be denied. Her
incisive observations of people and of life itself are profound and elegantly
stated. She delves into the souls of her characters, expressing her recurrent
themes in a cadence reminiscent of verse and great speeches, replete with
alliteration, repetition, metaphors, and imagery. This elevates her prose to
heavenly heights at many points in her book. As some critics believe, her
writing is sometimes heavy-handed with editorializing rather than allowing the
story to tell itself. But experience shows us that the “firsts” of anything
important are not as developed as they will eventually be. Portillo grew
immensely throughout her career and inspired generations of Latinas to take up
the mantle of creativity and follow in her footsteps.

__________________________________

*
The following sources
were used for this article: Vernon E. Lattin’s & Patricia Hopkins’
“Introduction: Crafting Other Visions: Estela Portillo Trambley’s New Rain of Scorpions,” in the 1993 edition
of the book; Reference Library of
Hispanic America, Vol. III, ed. by Sonia G. Benson (2003); The Norton Anthology of Latino Literature, ed.
by Ilan Stavans (2011).

Meet Thelma:

Thelma Reyna, a Pasadena poet and writer, author of The Heavens Weep for Us and Other Stories (2009, Outskirts Press), which has won four national awards. Her short stories, poems, essays, book reviews, and other non-fiction have been published in literary and academic journals, literature textbooks, anthologies, blogs, and regional media off and on since the 1970’s. Her first poetry chapbook, Breath & Bone (Finishing Line Press, 2011) was a semi-finalist in a national poetry chapbook competition. Dr. Reyna is an adjunct professor at California State University, Los Angeles. Her website is www.ThelmaReyna.com.

6 comments:

This comment is crucial in this argument and iot resonates an echo in my own life. Thank you for this article: Unfortunately, Portillo Trambley’s work never received the attention showered on her male contemporaries, a deep disappointment to her and one she attributed to the entrenchment of discrimination against women. She once stated in 1980: “Most male teachers of Chicano literature will look at all the men before they’ll tackle me. After all, I am just a woman....we still have our closed doors and our own way of polarizing everything between men and women.”

Luzma, thank you for leaving a comment. My hope is that, as Latina authors establish ourselves in literature, things will change. In the meantime, supporting one another's work is important to all authors. Best wishes to you, Luzma.

Thank you for lending your voice to this review. The works of Estela Portillo Trambley are obviously a treasure. For those of us who are unfamiliar with Latina authors, your literature review provides a useful guide toward not only expanding our perspective of humanity as a whole, but also understanding the Latina experience as yet another pinpoint example of socioeconomic subordination within the larger context of feminist theory. Your review makes apparent that the dearth of Latina literature typifies the social impoverishment and artistic constraint of subjugated peoples in general. You also help us see that there is a consistent theme in the author’s works that suggest empowerment, enduring strength and a persistence of character that refuses to be held down. Furthermore, the historical background content in your review is also valuable. The mere fact that Portillo Trambley was “sometimes criticized by fellow Chicano writers” for not “joining in the militancy and advocacy of Chicanismo” is certainly analogous to the age-old demands that women must necessarily betray themselves and put aside their own goals, purpose and desires, in order to meet the behavioral standards established by the patriarchy. In sum, by recognizing the struggles faced by Estela Portillo Trambley as a woman writer, parallel to describing the struggles faced by the women characters in her stories, your review of “Rain of Scorpions and Other Writings” provides a more meaningful understanding of how gender inequity affects both art and artist. -- Lorna Elam Jackson, EdD

I just read this is Feb 2015! Now I really want to read Rain of Scorpions. This reminds me of Nellie Campobello writing in Mexico about the Mexican revolution in the 1930's and being minimized and ignored. Poniatowska writes that the attitude among all the male writers and male literary critics at the time was "What's a woman doing at the gunshot orgy?" Thanks for such a thorough and great review, Thelma, and thanks Michael for referencing the link on Amelia's blog today. http://labloga.blogspot.com/2015/02/celebrating-chicana-writer-estela.html?m=1